


That Would Be Enough

by madlypieced



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, I Don't Even Know, angst angst angst, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:16:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madlypieced/pseuds/madlypieced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kara only wishes that someone did see her sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Would Be Enough

**Author's Note:**

> I never got over when Cat figured out Kara's identity (and I will never get over the direction they took it after).

Cat Grant is a peculiar person with particular expectations.

_“How do you manage working for someone like her?”_

After nearly three years under her employment, that’s the best summary of the multimedia mongol that Kara can possibly give. Even then, she doesn’t think it’s enough. She regrets daringly attempting to summarize Cat Grant, as though she could possibly condense her existence—her quirks, her wit, her love for her son, her brilliance—into a few sentences. Cat Grant is bigger than words, bigger than worlds.

“Kiera, where are the photo—“

But she knows why people frequently ask her about Cat Grant. They don’t ask her because she’s Kara Danvers, record-holder for Cat Grant’s longest returning personal assistant. They don’t ask her because she’s damn good at her job. They don’t ask her because they see her devotion or dedication at work. They don’t ask her because they don’t see her. They ask her because she’s serendipitously in the prime position for gossip, for news, for intimate knowledge about a woman who paradoxically dominates coverage of everything but gives away nothing of herself.

“Already on your table, Ms. Grant.”

The thing is, that’s why she’s so good at her job. No one sees her. She’s not in company gossip; she’s not in the pantry room huddled with laughing coworkers; she’s not in the dodge ball team against the Daily Planet. She’s not _distracted._ Her whole life she’s been taught to watch, to listen, to understand – to be there, but not be seen – and she’s exceeded even her own expectations in that regard.

“Kiera, set up lunch with Gabbani tomorrow.”

“Kiera, tell the layout designers to have it ready in an hour.”

“Kiera, have James see me at 3 with the prints.”

She only wishes that someone did see her sometimes.

* * *

“Thank you for all the help you’ve given me, Supergirl.”

But not like this.

Kara feels the blood flood her face, rush to her head – _this can’t be happening_ – and she isn’t sure what to make of the hint of a smile on Cat’s face. She can easily read the gratitude in Cat’s eyes, but she only thinks how she hasn’t felt so scared in so long. She stands still, so awfully still, as she tries to understand. _How? How? How?_ Her hands are damp with fear, her shoulders tense with confusion, and it takes an inordinate amount of willpower to not tremble and fly away this instant. _Why? Why? Why?_

Her chest tightens, as she manually regulates her breathing. _Not here. Not this, too._

All she has – _had –_ left of her normal life was CatCo.

She’s thankful when her phone rings and Cat assumes it’s Supergirl business, ushering her out. Kara’s hands clench as she forces a small, supposedly easy smile to maintain her composure because she can’t give it away. Not this, not here, not to Cat.

“See you tomorrow, Supergirl.”

Kara tastes the rising bile in her mouth, feels the stinging tears in her eyes, and her fear seamlessly evolves into anger. She rushes to the elevator, barely catching the unreadable expression on Cat’s face. When she’s finally alone, the façade quickly and violently crumbles. Her body trembles with so much anger, so much rage, so much _hate_. For what she’s become, for what her double life has taken from her – so, so much – and for what it will continue to take. There are tears in her eyes, and she hates that too. She hates how she’s already lost so much – her family, her chance at a normal life – but the losses continue endlessly, as if her lot in life is to lose, lose, lose.

She’s never fit in; she knows that much and, as difficult as it is, she’s grown to accept that. To accept that she will likely never belong in this foreign world, no matter how hard she tries. Beginning as young as 13, she’s lost sight of when the lies began and when the lies end – _do they ever end?_ She never wanted to be a wallflower; it was a path decided for her to protect her. All it did was isolate her, from her identity – something so integral to who she is as a person – and from others.

_“And I hate that I am never gonna get to have a normal life.”_

How could she? When something so central to her identity has to be kept a secret, as if it’s shameful?

So, she becomes Supergirl. Supergirl, who so freely embraces the Zor-El name that Kara longed for since arriving on Earth, who so freely embraces her powers to contribute to the community in a way Kara never could, who so freely _is._ She thinks becoming Supergirl would make her feel more normal – because she can finally be herself, a childhood dream realized – but she realizes being herself doesn’t make her feel any more normal. And it never will.

What’s the use of being able to finally fly – the ultimate symbolism of freedom – if she’s chained by duty, by responsibility, by the people she protects?

The one day she couldn’t be there for National City, the world questions her commitment, her loyalty, and her heart. 

She was no longer a hapless wallflower, safely concealed and weightless; she finally has some control over her life, over herself, but she didn’t realize the cost of being herself in a world where she isn’t normal, where her uniqueness begot greatness, and she isn’t sure if she would still become Supergirl had she known. Supergirl was originally an extension of Kara, a piece of her she could finally accept to better understand herself after years of reluctantly rejecting that part of her. But that isn’t who Supergirl is anymore; she’s become a hero, an icon, and Kara has to accept the consequences that come with her position as a superhero.

What she seeks is to be normal, but what she finds is that she never can be.

_“My normal life ended the day my parents put me on that ship, and that makes me so mad.”_

Except at CatCo.

Her one place of freedom, of normality, of weightlessness. Where she performs regular assistant duties, like get coffee, schedule lunches, and gape at her boss’ impossible demands. Where she has found genuine friends who accept and see her for her as Kara Danvers, not just as Supergirl. Where she doesn’t feel the pressure of National City crush her entire being.

_“Thank you for saying I’m excellent at my job. It made me feel normal.”_

And the idea of losing this one last piece of her minimally normal life – where Supergirl’s responsibilities don’t hang over her every word and action – makes her feel so, so scared.

She didn’t think she would lose this, too.

* * *

It takes every fiber of her being to get out of bed the next day.

She doesn’t remember what time she got home. She doesn’t remember much, really, except that it’s all over. Everything she’s worked so hard building the past three years at CatCo. All gone in a single sweeping revelation. Kara feels the lump in her throat, threatening to choke her from the inside out, and she half considers letting it. Instead, she throws one leg off the bed followed by the other before slowly rising.

When she walks through the living room toward the kitchen, she sees her canvases and paints and brushes scattered on the floor. There’s a pang in her chest. She remembers now—trying to paint last night, trying to channel her emotions, trying to _be_ Kara Danvers. She doesn’t pick up the materials.

The entire commute to work feels like an unworldly timeless punishment. Her mind wanders aimlessly, drifting between what she’ll do and what Cat will do. Cat Grant, ever the opportunist, is now aware that the scoop of a lifetime has been right under her nose for _years_ and the thought triggers a gateway flood of fear. Part of her yearns to be optimistic; Cat has surprised her time and time again in flitting moments of sentimentality and deep understanding. But part of her acknowledges that Cat Grant is a businesswoman running a self-made empire.

So, she braces for the worst. She readies herself with the thought of demands to do interviews, photo ops, and more interviews – to absolutely and completely replace Kara Danvers’ existence in CatCo in place of Supergirl.

But, when she arrives at her desk, unscathed and unquestioned, she wonders if last night was a dream after all. Winn engages her in meaningless conversation, to which she nods along to, but her eyes fixate on Cat who’s surprisingly in her office earlier than usual today. The normality of today—save Cat’s unusual presence—on a day when all hell should have broken loose is unnerving.

“When did Ms. Grant get in?”

Winn pauses, bringing his hand to his chin. “Before I got in, so… weirdly early. Is something wrong?”

Kara shakes her head and flashes him a quick smile. It’s best not to confide right now, not when she’s still unsure of what exactly is going on. Instead, she decides to drown herself in work. Maybe last night really was a nightmare, and just that. But when Kara looks down at her keyboard, there’s a small, white notecard underneath it. She immediately recognizes the notecard’s style, having spent hours distinctly designing it to meet Cat’s many criteria, and she realizes this is reality.

_“What’s the use of a thank you note if it’s bought in stock and not personalized? If you do something, go all the way, Kiera.”_

It’s a fond memory, another subtle moment of tutelage that Cat regularly offers Kara to which she is endlessly grateful for. She wonders if she’ll ever have another one.

She flips open the notecard and her breath hitches.

_“I see you for you, Kara.”_

And it really shouldn’t affect her so much, but her lips quiver anyway and the tears in her eyes blur her perfect vision. It’s just six words on a small card, but Cat Grant has always been bigger than words, bigger than worlds. And these six words promise the world Kara has always longed for, somewhere she is seen for who she is, wholly and completely, and still belongs not in spite of everything but _because_ of everything. A world where she isn’t recognized for her laser vision, super strength, or icy breath. A world where she is instead recognized for her ability to get Cat’s coffee at the perfect temperature, for saving CatCo from a hostile takeover with her friends, for being the person Cat can always rant to and rely on—for being Kara Danvers.

She’s found and made a home in CatCo—of all places in her life—and for Cat to acknowledge her as Kara Danvers and not as Supergirl means that maybe, just maybe, CatCo has found a home in Kara as well.

“Kara! Where is my coffee?”

And that will be enough.

 

 


End file.
